


sacred images

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Come Marking, Comeplay, Established Relationship, Large Cock, M/M, Mild Voyeurism, guided masturbation, ignatz fat dick rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: Claude makes Ignatz an offer he can't refuse.For Kinktober 2020.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	sacred images

**Author's Note:**

> i love this ship bro

“I want to try something different.” 

Claude, Ignatz has learned, is a fount of ideas. Some good, some bad- most exciting, and better advised than they’d appeared at first glance. It’s taken him a while to know how to agree, surrendering himself to Claude’s better instincts, but- slowly- he knows it’s become easier.

In the bedroom, as they are, his most fascinating propositions are made. Perhaps it’s the sleep-headiness, or the blood running from his brain to his cock- Ignatz isn’t sure.

As shameful as it is, he doesn’t care to know. 

“Something in particular? Or just something we haven’t done before?” 

Claude smiles, a coy little grin, like he’s musing over his proposition. Ignatz doubts it’s sincere- if anything, he’s almost certain that Claude has pre-planned everything he’s going to say. 

“You said that inspiration can come from anywhere, right?” 

“Yes.” Ignatz knows he could go on a long spiel about the artistic process- it would hardly be the first time. But Claude is practically twitching with the need to continue his own speech- and as a gesture of charity, he holds his tongue on the matter. 

“Is sex inspiring? Does it get the juices- uh- _flowing_ , when we fuck?”

Ignatz’s brows furrow, the expression that spills across his face nestled somewhere between charmed and _profoundly, overwhelmingly_ awkward. 

“...It helps clear my mind.” Ignatz coughs, stuttering on the words like he’s young again, and falling unarmed against Claude’s sharp tongue. “If that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Have you ever thought about painting something from when we have sex?” Claude asks, unperturbed, borderline nonchalant about it. Blood rises to Ignatz’s face- and down to his cock, hardening at the words Claude speaks, somehow unabashed.

Despite his embarrassment, Ignatz resolves himself to answer truthfully.

“That would be a hard thing to get perspective for. I could probably paint what it’s like to have sex with you- but, then, I could also take a photo of that.” 

His hurried explanation finishes a mere second before Claude puts a single finger to his lips, which close instinctually- yet not before Ignatz shoots Claude a rather petulant glare. 

“You don’t have to paint me.” Claude clarifies. “I was thinking about something more abstract, actually.”

Ignatz nods- rubbing his lips against Claude’s finger as his head bobs up and down. 

“Paint me with your cock, Ignatz.” 

As Ignatz short-circuits, he curses thoroughly the part of his mind that still goes near-catatonic when he hears the word cock, or vagina, or when his lover asks him to- as far as Ignatz understands his request- _slather paint on him with his dick_. 

“W-what?”

Claude doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls his shirt up, exposing his lower stomach, athlete-toned save for the places where softer, plusher lines have formed. 

“I read about this weird art project, right?” Claude begins, suddenly launching too far into his own story to pay much attention to how Ignatz’s face has warped in confusion. “A guy came on a canvas- he jerked off onto it- and he covered his, uh, emission with powdered pigment.”

Ignatz’s face wrinkles at the thought of that. 

“That sounds expensive. Good pigment costs more than you might think.”

As if he’s missed something important, Claude shakes his head at Ignatz. 

“No pigment. I don’t want to get painted on. But I want you to come on me.” 

In Claude’s eyes, gazing upwards, Ignatz observes a barely-veiled _challenge_ being made to him. Long ago, he would have backed away from something even a thousand times more innocuous than this. But now- things are _different,_ and he’s stirring, heat waterfalling down his body with no input from his rational mind. 

“O-on your stomach?” It’s not abs, really- Claude has never been one to put on muscle like Raphael and his kin. But he’s lean, trim, well-landscaped- pretty. Almost infuriatingly so. 

“If you’d like to do my face-”

“Stomach.” Ignatz groans. He wants, desperately, to wriggle out of his jeans, which feel suddenly like they’re meant for someone ( _somehow_ ) smaller than him. “I’ll do it.”

Claude’s grin grows wider, inadvertently reaffirming what Ignatz knows is true- that Claude has planned everything out knowing that he won’t refuse, that he’ll get suckered in. Ignatz doesn’t dignify his contentment with obedience, but he _does_ shift backwards, the sharp point of Claude’s cock underneath him signalling when he’s just about at the place he wants to be. 

Quickly, lest precious time be wasted, Ignatz practically _yanks_ his zipper down, exposing the point where his cock presses against his own undergarments. He lifts his shirt up, then pushes his jeans away from his hip, snaps the elastic of his underwear before _that_ goes too. His cock unfurls, erect, and he grasps the root- surrounded by a thatch of soft hair- decisive and intense. 

Claude groans, a low _fuck_ escaping his mouth. 

“Have I ever told you how _big_ your cock is?”

Ignatz nods, half-impatient. 

“Several times.”

It’s not just flattery. Ignatz appreciates that, at least. He doesn’t think too much about his own dick, or how he’s certainly well-endowed for someone his height- then again, he’s not fucking himself with it. Claude’s enthusiasm makes sense when he considers _that_. 

“C’mon, Ig. Touch yourself for me.” 

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. From the root of his cock to the head, Ignatz strokes his shaft, taking pleasure in the pressure, how the friction seems to deepen without using lube in advance. His eyes, however, remain firmly on Claude, his unabashed spectator, eager to watch him perform. 

“You like having the head played with, right?” 

Ignatz nods, concurring. Balancing himself on top of Claude with his left hand, his right hand moves from caressing his shaft to teasing at the head of his cock, a bead of precome already slipping out. As he continues to tease himself, letting the pit in his stomach eat at him hungrily, the cloudy fluid coats his hand, making it slicker, gentler, across his eager pleasure. 

Claude, as always, watches. He’s rock hard- Ignatz can feel it, knows that if he wanted, he could probably make Claude come simply by working himself down on his erection. But he’s not here for that- not now. Instead, he kneels down firmer, freeing up his other hand, and starts rubbing down his shaft at the same time as he plays with the head of his cock, letting the wave of unadulterated pleasure overtake him for a series of blissful moments- til, with no warning, he feels himself twitching, almost spasming, something inside of him erupting as he coats Claude with his pale emission. 

When his clarity hits, barely a minute later, he opens his eyes and stops his heavy breathing- and finds Claude underneath him, abstract patterns formed on his chest by the sticky fluid. He gazes down at them as if he’s impressed- as if everything has gone to plan. 

“This,” Claude groans (he’s still hard, at least by Ignatz’s estimation, and he resolves himself to take care of that when he can), “might be one of your finest works yet.” 

Ignatz stammers, briefly, over the words he wants to speak.

“You’re flattering me, Claude.”

“Hey. This art has a very personal appeal to me, you know?”

**Author's Note:**

> im on twt @meowcosm! kudos and comments are appreciated


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